


Matter Of Time

by QueenOfNewOrleans22



Category: Bon Jovi (Band)
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, Insecurity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24524113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22
Summary: Jon couldn't help but think it was going to happen, in spite of evidence pointing to the contrary...
Relationships: Jon Bon Jovi/Richie Sambora
Kudos: 9





	Matter Of Time

_What am I worth?_

It was a hard question to answer, all truth be told, and for a minute, it seemed impossible to answer. What was _he_ worth? Beyond all the glitz and glamour, hair products, steroids...what was he really worth, when you took it all away? When all was said and done, and he was without that mask and tore away the clothing that hid how truly _fat_ he was. 

If all the clothing that could hide his body was stolen, if he didn't dye his hair because that was the only way Jon looked good, if one day, his voice truly failed...

Not just the fans. Jon could handle the fans, could manage the guilt upon seeing their faces, but when it came to the others...Dave, Tico, Alec, _Richie,_ Jon couldn't handle it, couldn't see their faces and be able to apologize the pain away because they put all their faith in _him,_ put years of their lives into this band, only for it to fail because their lead singer was a failure, a faker. The truth was harsh, but it was real, and Jon couldn't argue that he wasn't because he was, and it wasn't fair, not to the guys, not to the fans who paid to see them preform, paid to buy their albums...all because Jon was afraid and _fake._

In that moment, locked inside a gross, tiny bathroom in Moscow, hunched over the sink and thinking, _fake, fake, fake.._.Jon wondered if his voice was what kept him in this band, if whatever that remained was his saving grace. He was tired, and running around a stage while as being as unhealthy as Jon was wasn't exactly pleasant, but he'd just bite his tongue and say his prayers and hope it couldn't be seen, how exhausted he truly was, how bad it'd gotten. Jon's hands were curled so tightly around the rim of the sink that the knuckles had turned white, and every breath seemed too hard to force in and out, but Jon needed to _think._

Was he dragging the band down? Dave and Tico still sounded excellent, so did Alec and Richie, and they looked great, could still smile without faking it, and Jon couldn't do any of those things, could only hope for the best and pray that each day wouldn't be the last. He was either so energetic that it was like watching a squirrel that had gotten into the sugar, or so tired that each step threatened to take him down. 

The Fans didn't seem to have noticed, but the guys had, and their concerned glances only served to worsen Jon's guilt, which hung like a shroud over his mind. 

Jon already had enough guilt- forcing himself to put food in his mouth had become a chore, and sneaking away into the bathroom had become harder than ever, intensified because the guys had become clever enough to notice and try to make Jon do something else instead like, _Check out this cool guitar riff,_ or, _Alec just stepped on my foot!,_ but Jon had become quick, and could sneak away for such a short amount of time that even Tico, arguably the most intuitive of the bunch, didn't notice, and Jon could have a moment to sit and think about how _stupid_ he was, how _selfish_ he was, risking everybody's career because he was _fat._

Richie was the hardest. Jon couldn't lie to him as easily as he could with the guys, and couldn't hide from him. 

Richie tried his best, but Jon couldn't, not when he looked as terrible as he did, _couldn't stop now._

Jon turned the faucet on and, after a moment of hesitation because even the water didn't look as clean, cupped his hands together and washed his face, held some of it in his mouth before spitting it out in an effort to rid himself of the taste of vomit. It worked well enough, and Jon shut off the faucet, wiping away the wetness with a shirt before tossing it in the vague direction of a duffel bag that had been placed on the counter and making his way out, shutting off the dim light and unlocking the door. 

It was only a matter of time before Richie would find somebody new. Jon wasn't attractive anymore, and Richie deserved somebody with energy and looks and without any issues that had lingered long after High School, still holding on tight, never to let go.

Richie was loving, sweet, handsome - he deserved somebody that could return that in kind. 

Richie would leave, and Jon couldn't blame him, and it'd all fall apart because Richie was too big a part of Jon, was his every reason to breathe and without him, Jon was nothing. 

But for now, while Richie was _there,_ warm and solid against Jon as he slipped an arm around Richie's torso and pulled up the blanket, while Richie was still right beside Jon as he'd been since 1984, Jon would cherish him...and dread the inevitable. 


End file.
